Risky Operations
by Calathiel of Mirkwood
Summary: In a burst, the groups of men clustered around the wardrobe and finally caught a glimpse of the intruder, a firm jaw line, defined cheekbones, and intense, brown eyes...before the light faded away and he met their unforgiving steel with his own.


Disclaimer: Sorry guys, no Disney owner here, hence I don't own Will or Sao Feng or anybody else.

And without any ado whatsoever, here's...

**Risky operations**

A brown palm closed around a round door handle and applied steady pressure, prying the matter from its placement. The crimson stained wood creaked in response but let the stranger in. The air within the chamber was dusty and stagnant with mold. It reeked of tepid moisture and echoing off the peeling wood walls was the sound of dripping water.

Boots thumped softly against the uneven floor as the man entered. Reaching the center of the room, the intruder halted, listening keenly to the inert temple sounds.

Hearing nothing atypical, the shadow moved on, arresting his stealthy movements before a diminutive coffer. Outlandish, looping carvings embellish the austere box and crowning the top is three symbols in a foreign language.

Strong hands fastened around the chest lock and chocolate eyes intently studied the padlock mechanism, paying the dialect characters no mind, while the fingers probed the blemished bolt. It was tarnished from negligence and simple to decipher.

The dark fingers, colored by the shadows bouncing across the room, effortlessly and swiftly manipulated the gears, utilizing a thin piece of steel. A strident crack thrummed through the air like a gunshot as the metal fell free and the chest laid bared of security.

Chestnut hair doves free from where the intruder held it in reserve at the nape of the neck and the fingers paused before revealing the trunk's secrets to shove the coarse, stubbornly curly strands back.

There was a creak as the strongbox opened and the foreigner hesitated, deft hands hovering over the chest's contents. Again, the old temple makes no protest nor announces a warning. The intruder remains clandestine.

The hands continued on their path and gingerly lifted out a scroll constructed of slim slats of a light wood, likely bamboo, poorly tinted with dyes. The intruder rolled the scroll out and the reason for coloring the wood is made apparent.

Three bands of stiff parchment rest in the center of the scroll, from smallest to largest, their areas painted with letters and diagrams. The intruder's breathing quickened and the same precise fingers trail over the center of the map.

The hush is ruined by the sound of an urn shattering into thousands of pieces. The intruder whirled to see a frail older man with skin barely clinging to feeble bones standing before the remains of some porcelain object. His trembling finger raised and pointed at the intruder, then a shriek pours from his mouth and the alarm is raised.

Instantly, the dark foreigner acts, his black coat flying behind him as he darts towards the door. The old man staggered aside to avoid being trampled by this apparition and can only watch as it tears down the hallway, no more than the beat of footsteps signaling its departure.

But the distress signal has been set off and the intruder races forward, knowing his time to flee is brief. Soggy wood soars past as the imposter sprints down another narrow corridor.

Noises not of the foreigner's making crowd the temple and soon young men are hot in pursuit of the dark burglar. Their faces grim and cold steel placed in their hands.

Harsh cracks zoom overhead and wood splinters away in a bullet's wake. Pausing just momentarily to choose a passageway, the intruder draws his own blade and, using the animal hide strap, secures the scroll over his broad shoulder.

The temple alights with the fire of anger and the young men increase their speed, rapt on the target before them bearing the scroll.

A moment later and the intruder skidded into a room at the end of the hall. The eyes drink in the area, searching for any possible escape routes. Unfortunately, there was none. Yet just because one is trapped does not mean it can be worked to one's advantage.

Bringing a cold steel blade to bear, the intruder slammed the double doors closed, concealed himself, then waited the few seconds until the entourage of young men flooded the entry, barreling against the doors.

A deafening snap later and the doors split open. The oriental men swarmed the room to find it vacant. Their impassioned hollering went eerily still and they stalked the space like a panther seeking out its prey.

Floorboards groaned as men stepped over the planks and peered over the room's sparse furnishings. All went deathly hushed as they probed around, noiseless until a bright flash of cold metal rent the air. A young man near a tall, carven wardrobe slumped to the ground, already dead.

In a burst, the groups of men clustered around the wardrobe and finally caught a glimpse of the intruder, a firm jaw line, defined cheekbones, and intense, brown eyes. They saw he was standing, back against the wall, next to the wooden object before the light faded away and he met their unforgiving steel with his own.

The disturbing mixture containing dark swirls of cloth and the vivid glimpse of a sword slicing down upon another poor victim sent fear skittering across the enclosure but despite that, the Orientals attacked.

A slight grunt was the first indication that this intruder was in fact human and not some specter of the underworld, dispatched to torment them. Emboldened by the reaction, one eager, fresh faced teen brought around a thick piece of wood and swung it towards the foreigner.

Another man had swung at the intruder at the same instant and in response the dark figure dove but in the process was caught in the side by a blunt club.

Each blow dealt to the intruder was as if a dehydrated man was handed a drop of water, they fed on it, driving their anger and passionate hate on any who dare step on their sacred grounds.

Still the foreigner kept on his feet, parrying what blows he could and slowly edging the conflict towards the doorway, periodically striking out like a cobra at the livid men confining him.

Movements immobilized when a deep bellowing voice shouted in uneven but discernable English, "Don't move! If you do, I kill you, stranger!" There was the click of a pistol's hammer being drawn back.

The intruder obviously was unsure of how to continue and waited for his enemies to make the first move.

"Drop sword!" the voice commanded.

Reluctantly, the foreigner did so.

Within an instant the oriental men were upon him, beating at him with their clubs and yanking the scroll away. Their fingers tore at his coat, indomitable in their quest to prove that this intruder is indeed of flesh and blood.

In their concentrated anger, they forced him onto his knees, raining blows upon his shoulders, face, anything. Yet it is the man with the pistol that steps forward, voice raised, "Take to leader!"

A glitter of light to the intruder's left brought his downfall as the minor gleam tore his attention away from a brandished bludgeon. The hard object slammed into the intruder's temple and the dark shape crumpled to the floor.

* * *

"My Lord." A small, burly man with the normal squinted eyes bowed before his leader and stepped back, waist still bent, to show off his prisoner, the intruder.

A thick, brown cloth was jerked away from the foreigner's head and for the first time, the young men fully viewed the chiseled face of William Turner II.

The chocolate brown eyes were as hard as flint and though the face was darkened slightly by bruises, hidden well by a deep tan, it held no fear. The sturdy body was stretched to its height and the shoulders thrown back in defiance. His nimble hands were roped to a section of wood behind his neck.

"So you are the one who comes into temple and tries to steal navigational charts?" A man, half shrouded in mist, demanded, his back even now partially turned against them.

Will did not offer an answer.

The man pivoted completely letting the vapors rise over his face, lined with white scars. "You are younger than expected." He stepped down to the main floor and stared at Will eye level. "I am Sao Feng, the one you steal from."

The eyes lock, both equally dark and fathomless. "I wish to know how it is that one of your age," the heavy Chinese accent cut the words short but remained understandable, "comes to Singapore, fights my men, tries to steal these map that many not even know about." It was obvious that Sao Feng's ire was rising like the mist clinging to their feet.

"I have many connections, none of which concern you."

"I am not used to disrespect." Sao nodded subtly to one of the men flanking Will and a hard fist connected with the younger man's belly. "This is serious matter. Not many come after this." He pivoted. "Why do you?"

"I come after this for my own reasons which have no relevance to you or your men." Will spat out.

"You insult my honor, thief! You try to steal my maps and say I am no relevance to you?" Sao Feng's horrifically scared face twisted in fury. "Tell me name and perhaps I show mercy!"

Will broke the pirate lord's gaze but did not proffer a reply. He knew this was a risky operation as soon as Barbossa submitted his proposition.

Sao Feng looked as if he had just stared ranting and was about to commence the real enraged torrent of words and likely beatings when a timid girl in tattered black clothing scuttled up.

Her head remained down but when she spoke it bobbed slightly, words tumbling free in a dizzying muddle of syllables and vowels.

Sao Feng appeared considerably incensed at what could only be a report and whirled on Will. "It seems I have visitor. Perhaps, friends of yours?"

"It doesn't have to be this way."

The man paused, a queer expression of interest fluttering about his scarred features.

"We can both get what we want. All I need is a ship and a crew."

"And what…would you offer in return?"

"What would you ask?"

Sao Feng studied Will for a short moment. "A very intriguing proposal but I have guests…perhaps under different circumstances."

Iron gripped hands shoved Will towards one of the many large vats of water dotting the steamy room. Fear flickered within the dark brown depths but it vanished like a fire gone out and the stoic cover was replaced.

Sao Feng watched, dispassionately, as the dark-haired young man was thrust into the massive drum. Even as the two cronies forced his head down into the waters the expressive eyes never lost their intensity.

And the pirate lord couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was a risky operation, on his part, to imprison this man.

**Fin**


End file.
